My Love, My Sin
by sulliedsoles
Summary: I want it all. I need, and I take, and I abuse. But I love my Love, and I love my Sin. I can't let either one go.
1. Chapter 1

**This is my first fic that's longer than a flash, so, be gentle. Or rough. I like it both ways. **

**Thank you to my pre-reader lellabeth and my beta geekchic, because without them, this wouldn't be happening. I'd still be hiding in a corner. They're incredible people, writers, readers, and cheerleaders.**

**Geeky, you're brill, darling. You make all things beautiful, and your encouragement is like...air. I need it. I had no idea what em dashes were before you (I had to google it). Lella, you are the perfect reader (and writer). Your feedback tells me you get me, and that's about the best feeling in the world. 333 I love you girls**.

**Twilight and all our favorite playmates belong in the playground Stephenie Meyer built, and I don't own them. They're just so damn fun.**

**I tinker until posting, so mistakes are mine.**

* * *

****Ch 1

I'm sleeping, cozy-warm and wrapped up in Love, when I hear it. It's just a little thing, a ping and a buzz, but it makes my heart race and my hands shake. It makes me cold-sweat and stiffen. It brings me to life, fills my veins with adrenaline, and tells me I'm wanted.

I shift slow, easy, soft out from under Love's arm and pick up my purse. He is snoring away, unknowing. I tiptoe over sinking silent carpet, out the door and down the hall, through the kitchen and out the back door into cool, lightless night air before I even dare to dig my phone out and look at what it says.

When my thumb hovers over the button, I breathe deep and smile, soaking in the feelings and letting them fill me up. Then press and read: _Mine._

Just one word, and I am weak for him, wanting more and all. My feet are freezing in the dew-damp grass but I feel heat all over. That's what he does to me, my love-stealer, pain-causer, pleasure-giver. My Sin.

I don't text back because he knows. I delete and cover tracks. I sit down on the rough wooden deck steps and light a cigarette. Love, just down the hall, he hates it when I smoke. He says it's because he cares and he doesn't want me to get cancer, but it's because he doesn't like how it looks to other people. Sin, he smokes with me and always, always lights my cigarette off the end of his. When I get nearly down to the filter, and am standing to go back inside, the deck light flips on, and everything is too bright. For a half-second, I panic. Then I'm just pissed.

I can't see Love standing on the other side of the door, but he's there. I hold a hand up to shade my eyes and hiss at him to turn off the light. He does and I can see again. I flip him the bird though I doubt he sees. I tuck my pack and my lighter back into my purse and sling it over my shoulder, then take three deep breaths of cool air before walking back to Love.


	2. Chapter 2

**Geek and Lella make my world go 'round. **

**Twilight and all our favorite playmates belong on the playground that Stephenie Meyer built, and I don't own them. They're just so damn fun.**

**Mistakes are mine.**

* * *

Ch 2

"Babygirl likes soft pink, does she?"

"Don't mock me."

"Since when do you wear pink lingerie? Did he buy them for you? Ask you to wear them?"

I'm lying stretched out and half buried in cool, sterile white sheets. Edward is picking at the lace on the petal pink thong in distaste. I don't tell him that he's guessed exactly right and that I have a date with Love later tonight. And I don't tell him that I almost didn't come to meet him. He is in black boxer shorts and sports a hickey on his collarbone that I did not give him. I push my finger into the purplest part, and my eyes accuse. He shrugs.

He pushes covers off me and eyes my unmarked skin. He traces fingertips over curves and dips and gives me chills. He smiles, his clear green eyes darken, and he looks like Satan when he says, "Let me mark you, Babychild."

I slap his hand away and push him over until he's stretched out on his back. I unfasten pink clasps and strip off pink lace, tossing them onto the nightstand. He's provoked me enough and I'm tired of his accusations when neither of us has the right to claim anything. I straddle his hips and drag my fingernails, just a little too hard, down his chest and over his ribs. He doesn't flinch like Love does. His lips curl and he knows he's got me back.

Pink stripes are showing on his skin when I reach for black elastic but he catches my wrist, flips me over, and hovers. I don't squeal or fight; I wrap him up and press my calves to the backs of his thighs, lock my hands behind his neck, and pull him down to me.

When we kiss, it's fire. It destroys. It makes me alive.


	3. Chapter 3

**Geeky and Lellabeth are my true loves. They are so wonderful. Without their hand-holding, I'd be lurking away**.

**Twilight and all our favorite playmates belong in the playground Stephenie Meyer built, and I don't own them. They're just so damn fun.**

**Mistakes are mine. Let's go have dinner with Love, shall we?**

* * *

Ch 3

The maître d' points me to where Carlisle is waiting for me, as usual and always, at a table in the back corner of the restaurant. I brush invisible wrinkles out of my pencil skirt and adjust my cardigan and clutch before taking a breath and confident, high-heel clicking steps toward him. He stands when he sees me coming and locks eyes and smiles so sweet. When I walk up to him, soft smile and rosy pink blush in place, he touches fingertips to my elbow and lips to my cheek.

We sit, me first, then him, my gentleman, sweet-whispering, tender-touching, love-showering gentleman. He orders for us both and leans forward to talk. He is the epitome of grace and kindness, and he is all kinds of right.

"You look beautiful tonight, Sweetheart," he says, blue eyes shining.

"Thank you."

"Did you get my gift?" he asks, coyly, boldly for him, as he leans back and sips the wine he ordered.

"I did." I blush and smile and fidget with the napkin in my lap. He will assume I'm blushing because of his sweet, soft seduction, but I'm thinking of what Edward and I did earlier. How he hated the lace, the color, the fact that it wasn't me. Not at all.

"Are you wearing it?"

I nod and lift my eyes to meet his. He is smiling-proud, pleased with his subtle form of foreplay.

After we eat, napkins in laps and ankles crossed, he pays the bill and holds his hand out to me to escort me outside. When my fingers touch his, he squeezes and smiles and lights me up.

At the curb, the valet brings his car, and he tells me to leave mine. He'll have his driver bring me back in the morning to pick it up, but tonight, he whispers, "I'd like you all to myself, Sweetheart."


	4. Chapter 4

**Geeky and Lellabeth make this readable, and hold my hand, and still write their own fuckawesomefics Mad props to them for being just generally unbelievable and great.**

**Lellabeth has also won ALL THE AWARDS lately (one in the More is MORE contest-so hot, and one in the TLSAngst contest), so you should read her stuff. You really should. It's amazing. **

**Twilight and all our favorite playmates belong in the playground Stephenie Meyer built, and I don't own them. They're just so damn fun.**

**Mistakes are mine. **

* * *

I pull up to a run-down house on a side of town I shouldn't be caught dead in. There's bass thumping through the orange bricks and cars parked haphazardly up and down the dark street. I check the message on my phone against the numbers on the mailbox and see that they match before I get out.

The noise is louder outside the car, and the air smells like all kinds of smoky goodness: a bonfire, a grill, cigarettes, and weed. There are people coming and going, stumbling and slurring, and it's only eleven. This will be chaos come morning.

I move toward what I hope is the garage. I don't know where my Sin is in all of this, but he's here. I can feel his pull on me. I walk softly on rubber Converse soles and run a hand through my wild and wind-blown hair. I turn the corner and see a group of men standing around a fire pit, beers in hand, laughter echoing over the music from inside the house.

He's there, the tallest, his black hair crammed under a ball cap. Edward is all male: sinewy-strong, too handsome, and louder than the others. He feels me here because I feel him. He's in my chest, so deep, a prick and a sting, a constant ache. It eases when I walk up to him and touch the so-soft heather grey of his hoodie and feel muscles ripple under the cotton. It eases even more when he turns his green eyes on me and wraps an arm tight around my waist.

"There she is," he says, and I see hazy, murky, too-dark pupils and notice his slur. Sin is higher than high.

"Here I am."

"I've been waiting," he whispers too loudly into my ear, wobbling and leaning his weight onto me. I am too straight, so I take his cup, and in three huge swallows, down fire-hot whiskey. He laughs and smacks my ass before leading me to the bar for another.

We drink and laugh and smoke; Sin gives me pills and tells me to fly; we are careless and captive to our immature impulsivity. Edward claws and paws at me, all hands, slipping up and under and over hidden skin. He picks me up and hauls me near a speaker that's bass-beating in my chest, thumping along to the rhythm he sets for us. He leads me, turns me around, makes my head spin but never lets me fall. We dance too slow, sensual and slick, pressed together. His lips touch my neck, and my eyes slip closed.

"Corrupter," I accuse, a whisper he can't hear. "Derelict. Terrible troubler."

I lick my lips, then press them to his.

"Mine," he says. "Say you're mine."


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks to Geekchic12FF and Lellabeth for their unconditional support and encouragement. They are unreasonably amazing people, and if I knew them IRL I'd give them ALL the hugs. **

**Twilight and all our favorite playmates belong in the playground Stephenie Meyer built, and I don't own them. They're just so damn fun.**

**Mistakes are mine.**

* * *

Ch 5

Carlisle built a fire tonight. There's a bottle of expensive red wine, shining crystal glasses, candles, and flowers. The right music plays—soft and soulful—Van telling me that I'm the Queen of the Slipstream. My heart flies when Love bends down to pull off my black pumps, one at a time, then takes my hand and leads me across plush carpet to a chair near the flames.

"Sweetheart," he smiles. I smile back.

"Yes, Love?" I answer, never letting my eyes wander from him, my tall, light, handsome blue-eyed Love, my Affirmer, my Saint.

He pours purple-red liquid into the thinnest of glass, then hands it to me. I swirl and smell and sip as he watches. The first taste, the smallest sip of rich warmth, I close my eyes and breathe. It's heady and full of blackberry and currant, with leather and tobacco, sweet-strong heaven, just as Love is.

"Mmmm," I sigh and appreciate the wine, his choices, his love poured out for me and all over me in every small detail. He leans in and kisses my shoulder, then my neck, and tucks a strand of straightened-soft hair behind my ear.

He sits me down, then sits at my feet and gives a quick kiss to my knee before facing the fire. We watch the yellow-orange in silence, filled up with Love and loving and warmth. He pours himself a glass of wine, and we each drink. He says he tastes chocolate. I taste again but only add cherries, too sweet and getting sweeter.

"Stay with me tonight?" he presses and tries to take. I push-pull and stand, barefoot and panicky, until he meets my eyes again, a soft smile and the promise of Love, Love, Love. I sit again and answer,

"Yes."

When my phone pings and buzzes, I don't even read the message.


	6. Chapter 6

**Thank you to Geeky and Lellabeth. I send you cyber hugs and kisses and love. **

**Twilight and all our favorite playmates belong in the playground Stephenie Meyer built, and I don't own them. They're just so damn fun.**

**Mistakes are mine.**

* * *

Ch 6

My phone says I have seventeen unread text messages. I know they are all from my Sin. He will not let me go.

So when I sneak into the early morning light and go outside to call him, I expect angry. I prepare for fury, rage, aggression. I anticipate his curses, his slurs, his yelling. I am nowhere near ready to face what he hits me with: disappointment.

"Where you been, Crazybeautiful?"

"I'm here. I've been here."

"Not with me you haven't. I'd know it. I couldn't forget it. You burn me when you're here, Wild Babychild. You leave scars."

"You're one to talk, Sinful Soulstealer. Where have you been?"

"Here and there. Waiting for you. Hopeless. Come over."

"Now?" My eyes flit to the sliding glass doors, looking into dim, quiet light and warmth.

"Yes, now."

"I can't."

Edward sighs, and I hear him shift. He is lying in his bed, and he wants me to come to his house. It's been so long. He is hopeless, lonely and needful. I hear it in his voice when he says, "Please, Wildchild."

I hang up and exchange my phone with the pack of Marlboros in my purse. My black lighter is slipped into the nearly empty and crushed pack. I pull out a smoke and light the end, inhaling deep, exhaling slow. I turn my back and walk to the edge of the deck, hanging my toes off and puff-puff-puffing, trying to get my head right again.

I hear the sliding glass door open and don't turn, but I feel Love's judgment.

"Bella," he groans. "I thought you quit."

I don't answer, just inhale again and shrug one shoulder.

"You know I hate that. It reeks."

My heart hurts, and guilt climbs from the pit of my stomach up my throat, making it hard to breathe. And I know he's right. I know it's bad for me, and I'm making poor decisions. I stub the cigarette out on his railing and flick the butt into the yard.

See, Love has his claws so deep inside it hurts. I feel them between ribs and sinking through skin. I try to break away, small rebellions, unsuccessful. He is Love. He is life. But he kills and maims like all of us. Love is a life-stealer, same as Sin. He manipulates and uses. He takes and abuses. Love is all about Love, and Sin is all about Sin. But who? Who is all about me? Who Loves and Sins and Takes and Gives?

I turn to face him, and he's scowling-mad and vengeful Love, judging, petty, and angry Love. I've pushed him enough. I do not measure up. I walk through the house, picking up my heels, purse, and clothes from yesterday on the way out.

When I crank my car, I know exactly where I'll go.


	7. Chapter 7

**Thank yous and all the love, as always, to Geeky-pie and Lella-love. I just can't even with you both. Not even a little even can I. **

**Twilight and all our favorite playmates belong in the playground Stephenie Meyer built, and I don't own them. They're just so damn fun.**

**The mistakes, they belong to me.**

* * *

"What is that you're wearing, Miss Priss?"

One of the things I love about Edward is the name-calling meanness he sends my way, always half-mocking but fully-appreciating. He doesn't call me the same thing twice, and he always goes with whatever he thinks of me in the moment. It lets me know he sees me, all of me. Carlisle calls me Sweetheart.

He is standing stark naked and painfully handsome in his doorway, a thin ivory sheet around his waist. I'm on the other side, hand still held in a fist from knocking, barefoot and re-dressed in proper business casual. His smile is sinister and contagious, and I answer:

"Can't I come in?"

He steps to the side, and as I enter, I feel his eyes over me.

"You were with him?"

"Yes, but I left. I wanted you."

"That's real sweet and all, but I don't like sloppy seconds." He smacks my ass before locking the door behind us. Then he lifts a strand of my over-styled straight, straight hair. "Go take a shower."

I nod and head to his bathroom. He calls after me, "And wash your hair."

I know he wants me, unpolished and honest, laid bare. No makeup, no straightening iron, no pencil skirts or high heels. I take off work clothes and leave them rumpled in a pile in the corner of his bedroom. I shower, wash my hair with his all-in-one shampoo, scrub my face with his wash cloth, and when I get out, I put on his deodorant. Then I pull on one of his band t-shirts and towel-dry my hair. It's wild and dripping.

He looks at me like it's the first time we met, and I remember. Meeting Sin face to face was frightening. Intriguing. Eye-opening.


	8. Chapter 8

**All the thanks and loves and cuddles and RobP0rn to Geeky and Lella. If you're looking for really good writing, head over to Geek's WIP Rescission for lemony goodness, and Lella's WIP Superhero in the Stacks for a yummy Libraryward. :)**

**Also, special thanks to QuinnLark for rec'ing this little diddy over on her WIP Chasing Sparrows. Check her out y'all. She has pretty, pretty words.**

**Twilight and all our favorite playmates belong in the playground Stephenie Meyer built, and I don't own them. They're just so damn fun.**

**Mistakes are mine.**

* * *

Ch 8

I was out with Carlisle. Of course I was. Then, I didn't know that Sin existed. I was precious, pretty, and crazy for Love. But Edward walked into the restaurant that night and stared. He wanted. He was blatant and cruel and unafraid. He was all hard lines and sharp glances in his black leather and pitch black hair.

I wanted to be indignant. Strong. Meaner and crueler than he could imagine. But he disarmed me.

And it didn't take long.

Love was taking phone calls, checking messages. Now and then, he'd clink his wine glass down too heavily, or sigh, or say, "What was that, Sweetheart?" But his attention was not on me. When someone thousands of miles away made some kind of mistake, Love had had it.

"Damn it!" he'd said. Apologized. Excused himself.

Edward saw his chance. He'd been watching. I'd seen. His green eyes, even then, drew me impossibly, improbably, moth to a flame. He'd been nursing a scotch on the rocks. I'd heard him order it. He sipped, watched, smirked, upended. And when he approached my table, I tried to look brave. And I tried not to look in his eyes. And I tried to ignore ignore ignore. I failed.

But Sin wasn't anything like what I expected. He was smooth and beautiful, and the surge of pure excitement, adrenaline, the rush I got when I thought that he might want me, it was irresistible. He strolled past my table, out of his world and right into mine, without a word. He only left me the rest of his drink, resting on the table's edge, begging to be sipped, tasted, savored.

Carlisle came back then, slid into the booth, and went back to his phone. The amber liquid that had touched Sin's lips was unnoticed by him and pulling, prying, pricking at me. I didn't look back over my shoulder, and I didn't question anything.

****I drank.


	9. Chapter 9

**Thank you to Geekchic & Lellabeth for...**

**everything.**

**Twilight and all our favorite playmates belong in the playground Stephenie Meyer built, and I don't own them. They're just so damn fun.**

**Mistakes are mine.**

* * *

Ch 9

Wrapped up in white on white, sunlight bright and everywhere, silk on skin and my snoring Love had an arm draped over me. I cuddled down and sunk closer to his heat—he is always so warm—and he responded by squeezing me closer in his sleep. He has always liked me close.

I smiled and sighed, tried not to shift too much so he could rest, but I was too awake. And guilt-ridden remembrance opened up in my stomach when I thought about that drink I took the night before. Like it was some kind of potion, some sort of evilness to root down in my belly. I told myself I was being ridiculous, that I shouldn't feel bad for finishing off a drink. It didn't mean anything. But something was there that next morning that hadn't been the day before.

And I swallowed it down and let it burn me, deserving of the bruising I continually give myself because of course it meant something, of course it did. I'd looked right into Sin's eyes, and it meant a lot of something to him. My Green-eyed Monster, Home-wrecker, Foundation-shaker.

But still, I was smiling.


	10. Chapter 10

**Thank you to Geek and Lella - they just posted their DTE entries to their FFN profiles AND added new chapters to their WIPs. Check them out they are goooooooooooood!**

**Quick note: nobody in this story is married...yet. ;)**

**Twilight and all our favorite playmates belong on the playground Stephenie Meyer built, and I don't own them. They're just so damn fun.**

**Mistakes are mine. How about a moment with Sin, today?**

* * *

Ch 10

Edward puts a warm palm to my cheek, and my eyes drift closed. My head tilts. I hear his breathing, his shifting nearer. His body is pulling, always pulling me to him and I am tired, so tired of fighting. My right hand moves impulsively, directly to his center, over his heart, the beat beat beat of it, the source of that unavoidable, conquering, destructive, all-consuming pull.

He's so close now, I can smell his skin, salt and man and cool, clean mint. Something sparks deep down in my belly, like flames at the base of my spine, and spreads. I have the strongest urge to lick, taste. I bite down on the insides of my cheeks instead, hard.

He presses his cheek to my temple, and I can feel the line of his jaw over my cheek, the sharp of his cheekbone against my skull. I inhale, shaky, frozen, thrilled and afraid.

"Shhhh," he soothes, so quiet. I feel him inching closer, so slow, that heat, that fire spreading with every miniscule movement he makes. His left arm creeps up, fingertips toward sheer shirtsleeves, starting at my elbow. I flinch when he makes contact.

"It's okay," he insists. "It's okay."

I am trembling and breathing too fast, shallow pants, and I realize too late that my breasts are just about to brush his chest. My heart leaps at the thought, but my brain balks, and I jerk away before the thought's even fully formed.

Sin is undeterred and restless, and his green eyes shift, and he recalculates, and I try to see past the flinch of pain he gives, but I can't. And I wonder how many little pinpricks he can take before he'll walk away. Or bleed out.

But the pain's gone now, masked so quick as he tries a new tactic. His latest temptation. He goes for the kill when he turns his back to me and heads to the bar. He knows I will follow.

I stand, locked-down, rooted, and resisting, until I hear the tell-tale little clicking, so soft, so un-ignorable. He pulls a rust-colored bottle from behind closed cabinet doors. I watch his long fingers push-twist-pull. I hear the slide. I see him count. I watch the bottle vanish before I'm at his side again, grabbing his wrist, looking wide-eyed and hopeful at his closed fist.

He smiles and blinks in slow motion. He's got me, and he knows it. Now, I am his.

"Button-pusher," I say with a smile, sultry and willing and caught.


	11. Chapter 11

**Thanks so much to Geek and Lella for their unending support. I am beyond grateful.**

**Also, thank you to the ladies at Rob Attack - this little fic was featured there this week, and Wiltshire Glo did a fabulous job with the review. I am so flattered, and in such good company on that list!**

**Finally, unbelievably, the story also made the FOTW poll on The Lemonade Stand! I'm so excited and thankful for all of you who read this, and for every person who reviews, and each and every one of you who recommend this to other readers. I love you all!**

**I have no words. Thank you.**

**Twilight and all our favorite playmates belong on the playground Stephenie Meyer built, and I don't own them. They're just so damn fun.**

**Any mistakes are mine. *little lemons ahead***

* * *

Ch 11

"Bella, fuck, I love you," Carlisle whispers, his eyes on my face, his muscles tight. He is over me and inside of me, his hands balancing his weight on either side of my head, my slim fingers gripping his wrists. He leans down and kisses my lips, teasing me with his tongue. I kiss him back, giving him my open mouth and wet, slick lips.

We stop kissing when he adjusts his angle, so he can hit me deeper. He slips a pillow under my lower back and grips at my hip with one hand, the other still supporting his weight. I wrap my legs tight around his waist, clutching him and holding him to me, his warm skin on mine. He's staring at my chest, then where he is sliding in and out. I am looking at his face.

He has no idea.

When his thumb finds my clit, I groan.

"That's it, baby," he says, watching, watching, gripping.

I feel my orgasm building but need him rougher, meaner. I try to adjust, but it's not enough. I grunt and groan and seek out punishment for my sins. I try to flip over seamlessly, without interrupting our rhythm, but Carlisle stops, pulls out.

"Bella, come back," he says.

I want my back to him. I want him over me, fucking me hard, skin slapping and slick. I try to roll over, but he catches my arm.

"Sweetheart?"

He looks lost, confused.

"Carlisle, please," I whine, trying to turn all the way around so he can fuck me from behind.

"Bella, baby, you don't have to do that. Let me look at you."

He won't give me what I want, what I need. I give in, rolling onto my back again, passive and accepting of his love. His mouth finds my nipple, and even though I don't want to arch my back, I do. I moan. I run my fingers through his blond hair, soft and soothing, resisting the urge to pull. He presses his tip against me again, circling, slipping in slow and easy, full of love and cherishing me in every single way.

He comes after a few minutes.

I fake it.


	12. Chapter 12

**thanks go to geek and lella, two of the most talented, kindest people i know.**

**twilight and all our favorite playmates belong on the playground stephenie meyer built, and i don't own them. they're just so damn fun.**

**mistakes are mine.**

* * *

Ch 12

"You can't hide from me," I whisper into Edward's ear as he sleeps. He's facing away from me, on his side of the bed, his unruly black hair tickling my cheek. I inch closer.

"I see you," I breathe, barely making a sound.

"You love me," I mouth, silent and frightened and ever-drawn to him.

I examine the ink on his shoulder blade, let my eyes follow the lines on his bicep. I take note of little freckles and moles, where soft, light-colored hairs sprout, and breathe deep. Wanting, needing to use all of my senses to memorize him, I touch tentative fingertips to the back of his rib cage. Then press lips to his slightly sticky neck, snaking my tongue out for a taste. I listen to his deep breathing and absorb all I can before he wakes.

He doesn't even stir when I bury my nose into the soft hair at the nape of his neck, or when I moan in spite of myself at his smell—the soap and mint and ever-cool scent that is uniquely his. When I close my eyes, I see a clear winter's sky, every star visible. That's what my Sin smells like. That's what I fall asleep to.

I wake up to something new altogether.


	13. Chapter 13

**geeky and lella are my best girls! thank you ladies, a million times over.**

**twilight and all our favorite playmates belong on the playground that Stephenie Meyer built, and i don't own them. they're just so damn fun.**

**mistakes are mine.**

* * *

Ch 13

It's disorienting, waking up in Edward's bed. I am equal parts relieved and frightened. He's not here. I know it instantly.

Something woke me up, and I can't remember what.

There's been a shift, an alteration. I feel it marrow-deep; I see it behind closed lids. I am disjointed in every way, lost and undone. I sit up and look around his bare-bones, nearly empty room. It is silent and mid-morning bright—harshly lit through the curtainless windows. Yesterday's clothes are still in a pile in the corner. My phone vibrates from the bedside table, and I'm certain that I did not leave it there.

When I look over to the offensive, pestering little thing, I see it's sitting on a piece of ripped paper, Edward's scribbled handwriting peeking from under Carlisle's picture, "slide to answer" captioning his smile.

I silence Love's call to read Sin's words.

_Bella Beauty,_

_You have something to handle today. I'll know it's taken care of if you're still here when I get home tonight._

_E_

My Sin is pushing buttons and testing boundaries. My heartbeat doubles, triples, flies; my chest splits, and my eyes tear. There's a key under the note under the phone and seven missed calls from Carlisle. Sneaking, snooping Sin must have heard and pulled the phone from my purse. I want to be mad, I do, but I can't. I am too torn apart and alone.

Love called seven times, texted zero. He was frantic. He has never called more than once. He is not persistent; there is no impulsivity in him like Sin. I listen to his one voicemail.

"Bella, where are you? I went by your apartment, but you weren't home. Please let me know you're okay, Sweetheart. I know you're angry about yesterday morning, but please call me."

His voice is stretched too thin, strained, and taut. And I know I am hurting him. Love is gentle and kind and cunning, and he knows. Love knows I can't bear to crack his perfect exterior.

I want to run to Carlisle's comfortable, convenient, and quiet love, assured and safe and warm; I want to chase Edward's mania, his roller coaster heights and depths, his constant challenging, passionate love.

I sit completely still for as long as I can, then slip naked from Sin's bed and step cautiously down bare, cold, hardwood flooring. Heel, arch, ball, toe, I creep, quiet. When I reach the den, I stop, still, and listen.

To nothing. Nothing but the hammering of my heart in my head and my chest and the echo of a message bound tug-of-war.

In his bar, there will be relief. I go to the little cabinet in the back. Behind closed doors there are options for me. Bottles of liquid, bottles of pills. Refuge.

I pick up the first thing I see and the smooth plastic and the tinkling pharmaceuticals immediately calm and reassure. I read tiny type and slide two white bars into my palm. Then I reach up again, shifting through Sin's bag of tricks, through hidden, evil pleasures, until I feel cool crystal on my fingertips. Vintage scotch, Edward's favorite.

I pop one white bar in my mouth and let it rest on my tongue.

I hear my mother's voice, chastising. _Decisions, decisions, Isabel._

I chew the pill and rinse down bitter crumbs with amber liquid that tastes like Sin's kiss.


	14. Chapter 14

**as always, thanks to my girls geeky and lella. they're just phenomenal.**

**twilight and all our favorite characters belong to stephenie meyer.**

**mistakes are mine.**

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Ch 14

I am tingly-warm and happy, so happy buried back in ivory and gunmetal grey cotton. I hold a half-empty bottle over my head and smile, swishing what's left around

and around

and around.

The light shines through the glass in such spectacular ways. I over-focus tired, heavy eyes and the world blurs, and sparkles, and soothes.

A door slams on the other side of the house, and the walls and ceiling, every side of my little box, they all seem to shake, then freeze, suspended over me in mid-air. I curl my lips in a lazy, low smile and wish they would drop, fall on me, all their weight. I wouldn't mind so much, being buried.

I take a long swig from the pretty bottle and listen to footsteps, boot-heavy sounds approaching. I set the bottle down, and my right hand flops uselessly to the side.

I try to sit up, to lift my head, but I'm so heavy with the walls and the ceiling all weighing me down.

Sin's face hovers. I knew it was him.

"I knew it was you." I push energy, movement, focused concentration into my arm so I can lift it to his cheek. I am close, but I miss. My hand falls, and then the ability is gone, and I find myself too spread out and scattered to do it again. He hovers, eyes dark, staring at me.

"Hmmmm," I exhale, inhale. "You ruin lives, Sinful One."


	15. Chapter 15

**thanks to geek and lella! :)**

**stephenie meyer owns twilight and all our favorite characters. but i like to give edward black hair and make him naughty.**

**mistakes are mine. and this chapter is edward's.**

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Ch 15 - EPOV

My Wildchild is still here. Her little car is parked crooked in my driveway. It hasn't moved. I don't know if this means she's gotten rid of her stifling, shitty, unsatisfying, clinging Other, or more likely, avoided it altogether.

Bella, my girl, my crazy-cute, freedom-loving, manic-savage beauty, she bypasses and escapes her guilt. She uses me to do it. I am her one sanctuary. She calls me Sinful. She accuses. But I made her alive. I breathed what she craved right into her lungs and lit her up from the inside out.

She needs me.

When I open the door, the house is too quiet. She should be swaying to thumping music and waiting for me. I slam the door to break up the silence and lock my jaw, grit my teeth to keep from flying around each room until I find her.

I need her. And I am not in the business of sharing.

I clench my fists and take deliberate steps to my bedroom. The door's open at the end of the hall, and I see her holding up my very old, very expensive bottle of scotch. I can't make myself care. She takes what she wants, and she knows I'll give it to her.

She must hear me coming because she half-lifts her pretty head, and her hair is wild and bed-matted, like she's barely moved all day.

She sets the bottle down, too coordinated for someone as high as she is.

When I lean over her, I brush a stray dark brown lock off her face and look into unfocused eyes.

"I knew it was you," she says. I watch her eyes drink me in, examine, and place blame. "You ruin lives, Sinful One."

Bella passes out, and even drunk, she is perfect. Her pink lips pout, and her long eyelashes twitch. She groans and tosses and turns, discomforted in her altered state.

The key, note, and phone I left for her are all untouched on the nightstand. I want to wake her up and shake her. I want to call that prick Carlisle and tell him who she belongs to, tell him that he is not enough for her.

My foster father will hate us. I grin at the thought.

Instead of pushing her, I give her refuge. I provide her hiding place. I persist, relentless. I will manipulate, I will play her games, make her think it's her choice, on her time. I strip down bare and curl up behind her. She rolls over and throws her arm and leg over me, pinning me down under so soft pink and white skin.

She thinks I've ruined her, but she was long gone before I showed up.


	16. Chapter 16

**thank you to geeky and lella, my first and favorite fanfic friends. **

**twilight and characters belong to stephenie meyer but i like to play with them.**

**mistakes are mine.**

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Ch 16

This time, I wake to all-over warmth. I breathe deep, tasting morning air and my Sinful Secret's scent. He's under me, my cheek pressed to his inked up chest and my limbs thrown over him.

At first, all I feel is an ache building, clawing its way around the inside of my skull. It starts at the base and gnashes and gnaws up, up until it hits the back of my eyes. I squeeze them shut to block out the light, to stop the spreading discomfort. Then, when it registers where I am, that I am three-days-lost in Sin's world, I feel everything.

I feel guilt, so deep and so strong that I nearly cry out. I am breaking and cracking and taking my Love with me. I feel sorrow, and knowing, and acceptance that there are things that cannot be recovered. Things that can be forever destroyed, forever gone. I remember what I've lost, what I am losing with every moment that passes in Sin's arms.

I swallow back the nausea that threatens and clench my teeth against too many emotions.

And I feel excitement, just under the fear and sadness and grief, I am smiling to be in this man's bed. He never forgets, always sees, is present and pushing and challenging at all times. I try so hard to hold on to the thrill and the pulse and the passion of him.

I am thinking of how Love holds me in the night. He wraps me up and traps me, but it is so safe. I roll over onto my side, facing away from Edward and nudging down, trying to tuck myself under him, hinting for him to roll over and cover all of me with all of him, to wrap me up and give me what Love does. He rolls away, giving me his back.

I huff and slap my palm onto the mattress. He chuckles.

"Grumpy Morning-Glory, did you sleep it off?" his voice is sleep-rough and grinning from behind me.

I groan and poke an elbow into his ribs.

"Roll over and hold me," I insist.

"Bossy," he mumbles and obeys.

I smile and sink down into his arms, forgetting again, avoiding, ignoring the nagging discomfort of long overdue obligations. Obligations that started eight years ago.


	17. Chapter 17

**thank you to geeky and lelly!**

**stephenie meyer owns twilight and all our favorite characters. **

**mistakes are mine.**

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Ch 17

Seeing Love was seeing light. Like staring out over the midday ocean, toes in the sand and tickled by bubbling surf, the roar of the waves and the feel of heated skin and the smell of the sea all fading to black in the bright, sparkling brilliance of the reflected sun, alive and dancing across the water's surface.

That's Love's presence: fluorescent, dynamic, vivacious energy, unfettered and beautiful, drawing all eyes and attention to him.

I was wide-eyed, willing, hopeful, and on my second assignment when Maria handed me the file, eyebrow raised, and sent me to the fourth floor, to Carlisle's office. I should have known. I should have run the other way. But I didn't.

She'd said, "Bella, this is important. Show him you're competent. It will get you places." Little did she know.

"He used to be a foster parent," she explained, getting this look in her eye. I know it now. It's longing, admiration, respect. It's pathetic.

"But his last placement was…difficult. He decided to take a step back so he could focus on running this office. This is a new guardian ad litem case. He...he just couldn't stop helping people."

_This man_, I thought.

The elevator ride was too short, the ten steps to his office door even shorter. I knocked and without waiting, walked right into his office and his life.

"Hello, Bella."

My breathing, my heart, my smile, all of it increased, grew, doubled with his attention. When someone like Love looks at you, your life changes.

I bet he wishes he'd kept his eyes - and his hands - to himself.

"Good morning, Mr. Cullen. I have the new G.A.L. case from Maria. She thought I could assist."

"Of course. Get your feet wet. And call me Carlisle."

I didn't know then I'd learn to call him Love.


	18. Chapter 18

**i have so many feels for geeky & lelly, it's crazy.**

**stephenie meyer owns twilight, and i try not to be jealous, but duuuuuude...**

**mistakes are mine.**

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Ch 18

Edward is popping the top off another pill bottle, measuring out enough for him and for me. I stand, tired and chilled in his boxers and white tee, leaning against the wall to his right. I watch him and mark down all my favorite things:

The line of his jaw.

The disarray of his hair.

The tilt of his head.

The concentration on his face.

His parted lips.

His long fingers.

His eyes - radiant green.

His muscles, his bare-chested beauty.

I snap out of my Sin-induced fog and index every memory for later. He turns toward me, holding out my share of the little white poison-packing pills and smiling.

"Here you go, Babychild."

I take them, grateful for their solace in all my grief. My head will stop hurting soon. Maybe I will breathe again.

I follow Edward outside, braless and barefoot and brash, and he leans against the hood of my car. I want to fuck him here, I think, so I say it.

"I want to fuck you here."

He laughs, like I'm joking, and pulls a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of his black sweatpants. He hands me one, then slips one between his lips.

He lights his own, cupping his hand and manipulating his mouth.

Watching Sin smoke is bliss, pure heaven, and I can't find it in myself to care that it's unhealthy. It's too good, too much pleasure, and I'm consumed.

He leans forward and I put my cigarette between my lips and touch the end of it to his. I inhale, watch it burn, revel in the first taste. I breathe it too deep and hold it in the pit of my lungs, in the bottom, at the heart of me.

Sin's looking at his phone. I look up into living, swaying green leaves and cool, immobile blue sky.

He doesn't look at me when he says, "Do it, Viciousheart."

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**teeny a/n: we are getting so close. after this, 4 chapters left. i cannot say thank you enough. i know bits of this have been confusing, but hang in there. if you have questions at the end, i'll try to answer. but everysinglefuckingword is purposeful. i love any and every one who reads/reviews/talks about my silly little story. no exaggeration, bbs. **


	19. Chapter 19

**overflowing flailing love to geeky and lelly, so much.**

**twilight and all our faves belong to stephenie meyer, ofc.**

**this chapter broke my heart. **

**i tweaked this a bit, so mistakes are mine.**

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Ch 19

"Jesus, Bella, are you okay?" Love reaches gentle fingertips to the dark circles under my eyes. His hands are cool, soothing, and they welcome me, for now. He traces the lines of my face and brushes smooth knuckles over my forehead, concern written between his eyebrows.

His blue eyes try to hide it, but behind the flash, the rush of worry and emotion, hidden down under that, Love looks scared. Not for me, but of me.

He should be.

"I'm okay, Love," I whisper and force a smile.

"Come on, come in, I'll make you some tea." He turns his back and I stay where I am, unwilling to move forward with him right now. I take in the clean lines of heather grey pleated slacks, the sharp contrast of shiny black leather running through belt loops, the way his shoulder blades fill up the deep garnet sweater. Every inch of him is polished, clean, rich.

I kick off white pumps at his door, and adjust my camel-colored skirt. I pad, bare feet, into his den, and sit on the oversized sofa nearest the fireplace, tucking my feet under me. I grab a soft chenille throw - he knows I get cold so he keeps them here and there - and wrap up my bare legs.

He joins me a moment later, two steaming mugs in hand. He hands me mine, handle facing me so I can take it without burning my fingertips. It already has milk, and I know he's remembered the honey as well. He sits down and speaks first.

"You look tired, Sweetheart. Do you want to go to bed? Or talk?"

I'm not tired. I'm straight-sober, hungover and hurting, and so, so frightened.

"Carlisle," I start, gentle and shaking. "I can't…"

He reaches forward and touches my cheek. He is soft smiles and cool touches. I pull away and shake my head.

"No, I can't, Carlisle."

"Can't what?" he whispers, still smiling, still advancing, still unknowing, so sure and so blinded by what he thinks he sees. Instead of my face, he reaches for my hands, both of his palms tracing the backs of both of my hands, up and over the chilled skin of my forearms, toward my elbows.

"I can't be with you." I blurt it out and look to his ever-soft eyes for forgiveness. They're questioning, then empty. His face is a mask to me, emotionless and unreadable. He stops. Sits back. His eyebrows knit together, like I just asked him a question he has to puzzle out.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, unmoving. Everything in me screams to comfort, to touch, to hold the one who has always been my reason for being until I sinned. Until I slipped. Until Edward.

My cells, every atom, strain toward the only home I've ever known.

He takes a moment or two and without looking at me, asks the one question I do not want to answer.

"Why?"

I breathe deep and try to steady quaking insides, attempt to firm up and cement down the pieces that are threatening to crack and leave us both shattered.

"I'm…I…" It isn't enough. My hands tremble and my stomach flips and nausea creeps. I pull in air too fast and don't get it back out fast enough. I reach toward his knee tentatively, expecting him to flinch or pull away, but Love doesn't. He puts his hand over mine and holds.

"Bella, I know you love me."

And oh, what he's saying is so true. But it's not nearly enough.

"I do. I do, Carlisle. I love you, and I will always. You're so good, my Love."

He smiles, delicate and fragile.

"But I can't," I add. I try to soften these blows, for myself and for him, because this could obliterate us both.

He pulls his hand away, and I am relieved even as I am grieving the loss of contact.

"You have to tell me why, Sweetheart. You know you are everything to me."

_Not everything._ I want to shout. I have to bite the inside of my bottom lip and lock my jaw. _Not everything. Not enough. Not soul-consuming, Love._

"It's…there's someone else."

I confess it, and I take the blame, I absorb it all and lock it deep in my chest. I let it invade me. I'll need it to punish and purge with later.

His eyes narrow.

"Fuck, Bella," he breathes. His eyes search mine, looking for an answer that he can accept. I wait. I hope he sees. "Fuck."

I wait, I wait for something.

He leans forward and puts his head into his hands, balancing his elbows on his knees. I hear the mantle clock ticking, mixing with the pounding of my heartbeat, so loud in my head, and resist the urge to avoid, to count the ticks instead of his rasping breaths. When he looks back up at me, his bluest blues are swimming in sadness and tears.

"Forget him," he demands, insists. "We can get through it, Sweetheart."

His voice has a hard edge, determined and unwilling to hear, to see.

"No," I shake my head. The first tear slips, and falls.

"No?" he barely gets the word out.

I close my eyes and shake my head again. His hand grips my bicep and makes me flinch, his fingers no longer soft and cool and loving, they are clutched down tight and searing.

"Who?" he says, his voice growling.

"No, no, it doesn't matter."

Something tells me he already knows.

"Of course it fucking matters, Bella." He spits betrayal at me, and his voice warns. His fingers tighten, and he shakes me once, hard.

"Who?!" His yell is as unexpected as his violence.

"Edward," I whimper.

I watch Love shift to Hurt, shift to Hate.

"Get out."


	20. Chapter 20

**thank you so much to everyone who pimps this and supports this and reads and reviews. and as always, to my favorite girls geeky & lella.**

**stephenie meyer owns twilight and all our favorite characters. **

**mistakes are mine.**

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Ch 20

CPOV

My Sweetheart, the pretty, quiet, soft heart-stealer of my life walked out my front door.

She was tear-streaked and heartsick, and even though I hated her for her words and bruised her for her choices, it cut me up to see her sad.

Of all the decisions, of all the little everyday rights or lefts, ups or downs, yeses or nos, Bella had to go and pick him.

Edward.

Hearing his name come from her, the moment she pushed it up and out, through lungs and over vocal chords, when it crossed her never-to-be-kissed again lips, I broke. What was rage, red-orange and throbbing, I watched it ice over and darken to blackness, numb and cold and dead. There was nothing I could feel that wouldn't be too much.

I told her to leave. It was that, or it was earth-ending.

Bella took the numbness with her. After she left, I was torn open fury and anger. The eight-by-ten on the mantle, her and me and a sunset, is now shards of broken glass, blood-stained and forever lost.

And I know he picked her because of me. He is damage-inflicting and cruel, unforgettable meanness.

He was always too much for me, unbending, unwilling, and infuriating. He is, and always has been, my biggest weakness - my one failure, multiplying to two.

He is trouble personified, walking difficulty, a tragedy waiting for her, jaws wide and trap set. And in spite of all that, my first instinct is to protect innocence, to guard girlish guiltlessness, and to save her from her own inept, stupid choices. I resist the urge to call and confront. I bite down bitterness and hold off aggression. Bella needs my rescuing, but from this, from him, I am unable.

Instead, I take down every reminder of her. I pack every pillow she's used, every t-shirt she's casually thrown over bare skin, every picture and hair tie and memento. I stack and sort and box, and when I'm done, shaking hands and quivering jaw, I cry over taped-up cardboard.

Walking into my office the next morning, I am cool confidence and warm smiles, as usual and always. When my Sweetheart comes to mind, I bite back sorrow, and I control rage, and I manipulate grimaces into grins for my employees.

I smile at our newest paralegal for an extra moment. She gives me her clear hazel eyes, a sweet-soft smile, and fidgets with her smooth bronze locks. The thought occurs to me then:

I wonder if I ever knew Bella at all.


	21. Chapter 21

**thanks go to geekchic and lellabeth.**

**stephenie meyer owns twilight.**

**mistakes are mine.**

* * *

Ch 21

"Edward," I whimper his name. It's dark, and he is nearly unseeable, only the left side of his face lit golden in dim lamplight.

His eyes are shut tight, his arms trembling, his frown too deep. He's over me and inside of me, and his lips are parted in pleasure. His hair is wild and I run my hand up his cheek, the feeling of his stubble making me lazy-grin. I weave my fingers into the mess at his temple, curling it around my knuckles before tightening my fist and tugging.

He moans. I arch.

"Edward," I pull again. He opens up to me then, his eyes so dark and dilated they're black, thin-rimmed with dark green. "Be here, Edward."

He shivers, rolling over and pulling me with him. He manipulates and moves me with long, elegant, strong hands. He situates me where he wants, pushing down on my hips and lifting up with his so he can bury himself even deeper.

And the feeling of him sliding into me, the way my body has to stretch, and accept, and all the ways I want more, it's hopeless, it's death and life and evil, Sinful and oh so good.

He pushes for more, and I am careless, frenzied. He's been like this, craving and claiming, since I came to him tonight. He grabs, clutches, clings, and begs.

"Bella," he grunts, sitting up to take my left nipple into his mouth. He flattens his tongue and swirls around light pink, teasing and pulling and begging, his hips moving under me.

"Oh my god, your tongue is decadent," I whisper. "You don't know, Edward. You don't know what you're doing to me." I moan and arch my back, pushing tender flesh deeper into his mouth, and clutch my hands to either side of his head. I break out all over in chill bumps, stretch myself and push my knees farther apart, digging them deeper into his sheets, tilting my head up and closing my eyes, lost in the way he consumes me.

My skin is so hot, and he licks and sucks and kisses every inch of my chest. When he reaches the thin skin covering my collarbone, he bites. It hurts. I cry out and all my muscles clench, driving me closer to the edge.

He bruises and breaks skin, and I hold on to him.

Both of his arms wind around me, and I let myself feel encased, wrapped up, held tight between strong muscles. I circle my hips, slowly now. He grips me tighter. His hands find the hair at the nape of my neck and he grabs two fistfuls, tight, and I gasp. He pulls upward to tilt my face down to him.

His face, his eyes, they're all I can see and they are burning, searching, possessing.

"Say it, Bella." His voice is raspy and firm, lust-filled and desperate. "Say it. Say it. Say it." He chants as he fucks.

"Oh my god," I whisper as my eyes slip closed again. I want to slide, slip, sink into blackness, float away on heavy breaths and Edward's smell and all our sounds; I want to lose everything in this moment, to this feeling.

Sin won't let me. He won't let me go. He tugs hard, tightens his grip on my hair and around my ribs. It makes it hard for me to get oxygen. I pant shallow breaths and lurch, frantic, so close, so close.

"Open your eyes, Reckless Girl. Give them to me," he orders. I comply, opening them fast and meeting his onyx and jade. "Now say it, Bella."

He flexes his arms, squeezing so tight now I feel my ribcage submitting, yielding to him. He pulls my whole body down at the same time, hard, and I give everything to him as I come.

"Yours, yours! Fuck, Edward, I'm yours."


	22. Chapter 22

**i have to recommend that every single person who reads fanfiction go read the following stories:**

**superhero in the stacks by lellabeth - the bella in this fic is such a hero. and beyond that, library boy is unbelievable. i haven't read a fic like this, ever. **

**rescission by geekchic12 - steamy, hot, and refreshingly brilliant. a must read.**

**okay, now i have to say i don't own edward (except in my fantasies), or bella, or any of the twilight characters. stephenie meyer does, dangit.**

**finally, thanks to my girls for helping make this story amazing and encouraging me and pimping me out so hard. i appreciate them more than words. and thanks to each and EVERY person who read, reviewed, or recc'd my very first foray into fanfiction. **

**mistakes are mine-final chapter, y'all. hope you love it.**

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Ch 22

It's been 7 months, three days since I ended Love, since I wrecked and demolished the comfort in my life. Since I chose Sin, and dove headfirst into trouble and chaos and wild wild freedom.

It's been that long, and I've only just seen him. Across the street, his beautiful blond and perfect profile are impossible to overlook, not when you spent eight years memorizing, categorizing, adoring. His breathtaking blues were on someone else, a new cherished one, and all the love and reverence I thought was always only for me was now for her.

So easily replaced. A peg to fill an empty hole, a stand-in easily re-shaped to fit.

I thought maybe, maybe I would feel anger, bitterness, pain, jealousy, hate even. But I felt relief, tangible and true, in every one of my once-shattered cells.

And Sin is the same, as evil as ever. He pushes my buttons and yanks my chain. He lifts me up to the highest heights and pulls me down low. I never, ever know where he will lead me, but I willingly go. He is darkness, and he is not my Perfect Love, but he is just what I need. Sinful Sexy Soul-stealer sees me. He knows me. He sees my bad, and my good, and my in-between. And he accepts, and loves, and desires every facet with deep, bottom-of-the-sea greed. He is covetous, and lustful, and crazy. He craves, and needs. He takes as much as he gives.

I push him, pull him, tease him, and abuse him. The more I fight, the deeper his green eyes betray his devotion, his thirst, his love. He is voracious, his need unquenchable, almost as endless as mine.

I'm standing, face-to-face with Love, finally easy, cool and comfortable under his gaze. He is full of proper pleasantries and polite hand-shakes, his fingertips never leaving the small of Esme Cullen's back. I am no longer precious, pretty, or pink, but I am standing strong and so sure before Love when I hear it.

It's just a little thing, a ping and a buzz, but it makes my heart race and my hands shake. It makes me cold-sweat and stiffen. It brings me to life, fills my veins with adrenaline, and tells me I'm wanted.

And I don't hesitate to read: _Mine_.

Or to answer: _Yours_.

I don't falter when I say goodbye to Love and his new Life, or when I leave him behind one last time. I walk toward Sin and home, sturdy-strong and unafraid.


End file.
